


The Price of Books

by A Big Sexy Jellyfish (abigsexyjellyfish)



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigsexyjellyfish/pseuds/A%20Big%20Sexy%20Jellyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In neigh on thirty years in Mr Norrell's employ, Childermass has learned a thing or two not just from, but also about books of magic, and he finds that the King's book is not so different from the rest of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProfDrLachfinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/gifts).



In neigh on thirty years in Mr Norrell's employ, Childermass has learned a thing or two not just from, but also about books of magic, and he finds that the King's book is not so different from the rest of them.

He tells Vinculus as much, over a dinner of slightly stale pies and cheap wine, shared in the barn of an accommodating farmer. Their coats, hats, shoes and shirts are off, and have been spread across the floor so they may dry until the morrow. It is quite fruitless, of course, for the summer rains have been relentless and the climate humid. No man or woman in England has been entirely dry for the past fortnight.

Vinclulus slows his chewing and for a moment regards Childermass, seeming to contemplate this off-hand declaration. Then he leans across the small distance between them as if he is about to impart a great secret. He holds up a finger and lightly taps the side of his nose. "They used to bind them in human skin."

Childermass laughs. "Not so very many of them," he says, giving Vinculus' shoulder a shove. "Besides you, of course, but what I meant to say is that my habits have barely changed since I acquired you. I still travel the country to speak to learned men about books of magic."

"Ah, but you no longer go about stealing them," Vinculus says through a mouthful of dry pastry.

Childermass does not seem much troubled by the accusation, but thinks to corrects him regardless. "Norrel paid for most of them. Granted, the price was not always fair, but who can say how much an old book scarcely anyone can use is worth in actuality? Besides, _respectability_ only went so far where books were concerned. Particularly before we went to London." There is a short pause before a slow grin creeps across Childermass' face. "You are a deal more expensive than most of them, mind. Save the dusting and occasional changing of old bindings, the books at Hurtfew required very little upkeep. You I need to feed and water."

"You do not need to have me rebound."

The look Childermass shoots him is just slightly reproachful. "I bought you a whole new set of clothing. New drawers, too, though I've yet to see you wear them once."

"Never had much use for them before, did I," says Vinculus. "All they do is make it harder to reach your parts, should you have a need. They itch, too."

"I do not think the world would suffer for it greatly if your parts were a little harder to reach," says Childermass drily. Vinculus snorts, but does not contest him.

The remainder of the evening passes much as it usually would. Childermass has fetched his new writing set from the saddle back and lights a small oil lamp in preparation of their work, which is likely to occupy them for some hours. He allows Vinculus to appropriate whatever remains of the wine in exchange for a silent promise to sit still, at least for a little while, and makes Vinculus hold out his arm, so he may transcribe some of the symbols from the crook of his elbow to the thin blank book that rests on his knee.

Childermass has, of course, made many a copy of bits and pieces from the book throughout their months together, but he rarely seems to tire of drawing from the original. This is particularly the case when he compares the King's Letters to symbols from old languages and near-lost fairy dialects, as he does now.

Early on in his life Childermass had taught himself to be near silent in all of his endeavours, a skill which has often been of use to him. Even Henry Lascelles, who had made it a point to keep his eye upon him at most times, had sometimes seemed to forget that Childermass was still there at all while he spoke in utmost confidence to Mr. Norrell.

So when after several hours Childermass emits a violent sound of soul-deep frustration, it is so sudden that some of the birds nesting in the rafters above them take startled flight.

"Am I being difficult?" Vinculus asks through a yawn. He had been dozing quite peaceably until now.

"You always are," Childermass says, irritably tapping at the page before him with the end of his pen."See this?"

Vinculus leans forward to examine the symbols Childermass is showing him. "I take it you no longer believe it to mean 'spell'?"

Childermass shakes his head. "I do not think it can," he says, indicating two further words. "Not if these are 'book' and 'light', as I had thought they might be." Progress on the Letters has been slow these past months, to the point where it has become increasingly difficult to tell if they have accomplished much of anything at all since they found one another beneath a hawthorn tree.

"I have half a mind to leave you at the next society, you know," Childermass says. Of course he does not mean it, not truly, but long hours of pouring over a text he can make neither heads nor tails of has allowed a small measure of sincerity to creep into his tone.

"Newcastle," he says tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with his one free hand. "John Littlefair and Miss Featherstone have shown some promise, and it is the King's city, besides. They should sort you out at Newcastle."

"Do not be a fool," Vinculus says firmly. "They would not know what to do with me any better than you do." He reaches across to close the book; it has become evident that they are done for the night. " _Besides_ ," he adds after a moment's thought, drawing out the word quite unnecessarily. "You yourself told me that no one is as equipped to read me as you are. And truly, how hard can it be? I can read you well enough."

"I would not be so certain." Childermass' tone is carefully flat, as if he himself cannot decide whether to be doubtful or offended.

Vinculus' grin has the edge of a leer to it. "Oh, you should be surprized," he says, and quick as a hare snatches the pen from Childermass' hand. His brows rise triumphantly, and for a short moment he appears to amuse himself by twirling his prize about his nimble fingers.

Suddenly he points it so sharply at Childermass that he might as well be brandishing a knife.

"Here's a thought: If I am so difficult to you, and you so plain to me, I'll copy myself down on you and do all the work myself," he says, "I'll be the reader, you'll be my book, and we'll both be done within the week."

The pen's wet tip begins to move across Childermass' chest with surprizing skill, but Childermass is already there to wrap his hand firmly about Vinculus' thin wrist before he can make too great of a mess.

"All you'd write would be bawdy songs and dirty poems," he says, smearing both their hands with ink as he prises free his captured utensil. "Now behave."

Vinculus' grin has not faltered. "The raven king shan't mind. That's all his book is, for all we know. Wouldn't surprize me at all. They were an interesting bunch of fellas and ladies, them old aurates." He tests the strength of Childermass' grip, but makes little attempt to actually free himself.

"I suppose they weren't called the king's wild company for nought," says Childermass, releasing him. He has barely let go when ink-stained fingers cup his jaw and the sweep of a thumb smudges his cheekbone with blue.

"Do you bloody well mind-" his complaint is cut off. Dry lips press insistently against his mouth; everything goes still. Everything but the sound of the rain outside.

It is difficult to tell how long the kiss lasts, but when Vinculus finally pulls back, he laughs at Childermass' stunned expression. He thumps him once on the shoulder and, still laughing, gets to his feet.

"What-" Childermass does not get very far.

"I've changed my mind, John Childermass," Vinculus declares quite brightly. He crosses the barn and noisily plonks himself down into the hay he has claimed as his bed for the night. "You were right. You may know a thing or two about how to care for books, but you're bloody useless as a reader. Now quit your gawping and get yourself some sleep."

Childermass snaps out of whatever stupor had taken hold of him and absently wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "The bloody nerve of you," he mutters darkly, but for once does as he is bid. He clears away his pen and ink and moves to extinguish their lamp.The hay rustles as Vinculus half-turns to glance at him over a bony blue shoulder.

"Still, a book ought be allowed to chuse his reader, and I stand by what I said; I should rather have you than the societies," Vinculus says, not yet entirely without his earlier mirth.

Childermass makes a sound somewhere between amusement and derision and swiftly blows out the flame. "You seemed to quite enjoy parading yourself about before them," he says as he, too, finds himself a bed in the straw.

"Ah, but a man ought to be able to chuse who to parade about in front of naked!" Vinculus' tone is quite deliberately innocent.

Childermass groans. "I do not know whether to tell you to chuse more or less carefully," he says darkly.

Vinculus just laughs at him, quiet and slow with settling fatigue.

"We shall see."

**Author's Note:**

> For ProfDrLachfinger, who drew me some absolutely lovely fanart a while back! Sorry for the wait, it took me a while to get this quite how I wanted it.


End file.
